


We're Real When We Need to Be

by Taste_of_Suburbia



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adorable Dean, Crowley and books, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dean takes care of Crowley, Established Relationship, Fluff, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Possessive Crowley, Romance, Season/Series 10, Self-Worth Issues, Sleepy Dean, h/c_bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-08-30 04:15:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8518147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_of_Suburbia/pseuds/Taste_of_Suburbia
Summary: It was the definition of their relationship.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for h/c_bingo Round 7 for the prompt ‘headaches/migraines.’

 

Dean surfaced from blissful unconsciousness, face pressed comfortably against Crowley’s shoulder. He mistook that shoulder for a pillow at first, unable to believe the demon was _still_ in his bed after the hunter annoyingly fell asleep several seconds after he collapsed in it. He remembered mumbling something that had probably been incoherent to Crowley before he checked out.

He hoped Crowley wasn’t too angry with him. He didn’t usually get angry with Dean, or stay angry long enough to make a dent, but even _he_ was embarrassed at just how out of it he had been last night.

The overworked hunter scrubbed a hand over his face and blinked tiredly, daring a yawn as Crowley turned the page of the latest book he was reading. He was always reading these days, despite Dean thinking there were better things for the King of Hell to be doing. Dean Winchester approved things, of course. “You ever get tired of laying around in bed?” Because he had been doing that a lot lately too, like he had nowhere else better to be than waiting for his “lover” to get back from his latest hunt.

“Darling,” Crowley shot him a look that was part exasperated though overwhelmingly devious. “It’s how I catch up on all my reading.”

As if Sam wasn’t bad enough… _I_ _’m dating another book worm._

Dean scanned the cover of the large, sickeningly bright yellow paperback and wished he hadn’t. “‘The Dummies Guide to Wanting Something More Out of Your Relationship’? Is that even real?”

“Of course it’s real,” Crowley protested. “Although unpublished.” It was the definition of their relationship too, because Sam didn’t know and Cas didn’t know and no one knew outside of Dean’s own bed, which had gotten plenty of action in the last week.

Dean had to keep telling himself that this wasn’t a week long romance though. First it had been their summer together, in which the two of them had done some very bad things that hadn’t all ended in tears and bloodshed. Then when Dean was human again, Crowley wouldn’t let up with the phone flirtations and the phone sex and Dean hadn’t wanted him to let up on them either. And Crowley had known it too.

And then Crowley had enough, and Dean had enough too and here they were: in Dean’s room and on Dean’s freaking awesome memory foam mattress, said owner feeling unjustifiably proud of himself and oddly sated too. 

Crowley, however, looked troubled. “I need to make an appearance in Hell tomorrow,” the demon informed, like it was just another day at the office. It was what Dean had been dreading. He could read the tinge of fear in Crowley’s voice, which he further tried to mask by turning several pages hurriedly and glaring at them as if they personally offended him. “Convince those bloody imbeciles their king hasn’t run off with Dean Winchester yet.”

Dean didn’t feel like pointing out that he already had, if only because Crowley might take off earlier. Despite Dean never getting his own damn bed to himself anymore, it was nearly impossible to sleep when it was empty. Crowley was always warm - more than he had any right to be - as he cuddled up to Dean’s back, the rasp of his beard against the back of Dean’s neck somehow soft and grounding.

“Don’t go,” he told him, smiled when Crowley put down his book and gave him a good morning kiss. It was sloppy and wet, distracted, but Crowley hooked his fingers into Dean’s waistband and pulled him closer regardless, like Dean was the only thing that could distract him.

When he pulled away Dean _longed_ for that heat again.

Crowley averted his gaze, bit down on his lip, and Dean urged patience and waited. He could be persuaded but control wasn’t what Dean wanted. That hadn’t worked so well for them in the past, and Dean didn’t want them to fall apart because they couldn’t trust each other or couldn’t get every single little thing they wanted from the other. The only reason why _they_ worked at all was the no pressure rule. Come and go, don’t complain, don’t make judgments and don’t expect too much. That last one was the golden rule because expect anything from Dean and he’d always disappoint.

No matter how often Crowley said otherwise.

“Stay here,” Dean offered, maybe pressed a little. He hadn’t gotten any time with Crowley last night and sorely regretted that now. He could pretty much hear the pounding in Crowley’s head too, brought his thumbs up to rub at the demon’s temples, coaxing the beginnings of a headache away. Dean hated to see Crowley overwhelmed, especially when it concerned hell, which it nearly always did.

Crowley took his hand while Dean was hard at work and kissed his palm. “How lucky am I to have snagged Dean Winchester?”

Dean snorted. “I’m not a vending machine toy, Crow.”

“Never said you were,” the demon teased, nuzzling Dean’s cheek with his beard because he knew how much it excited the hunter, how his whole body tingled in happiness. “Never said you were anything but _mine._ ”

Dean rolled his eyes at that pesky, dangerously sexy word and tore his hand out of Crowley’s, smoothing out the stress lines creasing the demon’s forehead confidently and ignoring his fond gaze until he couldn’t anymore. “What?”

Usually Crowley liked to play with him and this moment was little different, but typically he spent immeasurable minutes staring at Dean with great amusement while Dean stuttered and blushed - Crowley’s claim, not his - and weakly protested and tried not to make more of a fool out of himself while Crowley proceeded to whittle him down into fewer hard-edged pieces. _All I have to do,_ he pointed out _, is wear you down until I reach that warm and irresistible center_ _… something like that anyway, because you’re nothing but a teddy bear deep down, Dean Winchester. And digging that out of you while you fight me at every bloody step is part of what I adore so much about you, pet._  

Dean had definitely snagged someone who was a sucker for romance. He couldn’t deny how nice it was to have someone around who cared about him that much, to tug and yank and pull harder still until they collapsed in unison, both out of breath and Dean couldn’t remember ever hating Crowley.

He didn’t get how the hell he could be so attentive, how he filled up so many gaping holes in Dean without him even realizing. “Come to think of it,” and Dean could see the first few threads of Crowley’s resolve snapping, “I’m not leaving this bed for a week. And neither are you.” And that was _exactly_ what Dean had wanted to hear. He could do with a week of bed rest, maybe a few dozen flicks and some decent takeout and plenty of booze for the two of them. It was the makings of a great relationship. 

“Headache gone, your highness?” Dean asked with a subtle quirk of his lips.

The sound of the book hitting the floor as Crowley bent to kiss him was immensely satisfying. “It is now, _my queen._ _”_

  **FIN**


End file.
